But they already knew that, didn’t they? He glanced at the tape recorder and decided to give them nothing. “All right, all right,” he said. “I’ll be there.”
Ginyard leaned even closer and said, “You have one hour. If you make a phone call, we’ll know it. If you try to run, we’ll follow, okay? No funny stuff, Kyle. You’re making the right decision here, I swear it. Just keep it up, and this will all go away.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’ll see.”
Kyle left them there with their cold sandwiches and bitter coffee. He made it to his Jeep, then drove to his apartment three blocks from campus. He rummaged through his roommate’s bathroom, found a Valium, then locked his bedroom door, turned off the light, and stretched out on the floor.
Chapter 3
It was an old Holiday Inn, built in the 1960s, when motels and fast-food chains raced to build along the highways and frontage roads. Kyle had passed it a hundred times and never seen it. Behind it was a pancake house, and next door was a large discount appliance store.
The parking lot was dark and one-third full when he backed the red Jeep into a space next to a minivan from Indiana. He turned off the lights but left the engine running and the heater on. A light snow was falling. Why couldn’t there be a blizzard, or a flood or earthquake, an invasion, anything to interrupt this awful scenario? Why, exactly, was he sleepwalking through their little plan?
The video.
In the past hour he’d thought of calling his father, but that conversation would take far too long. John McAvoy would provide sound legal advice, and quickly, but the backstory had many complications. He’d thought of calling Professor Bart Mallory, his adviser, his friend, his brilliant teacher of criminal procedure, a former judge who would know exactly what to do.